The Dream
by Dishka
Summary: If someone told it's bad to daydream, I would agree. If the someone told me daydreaming has unpleasant circumstances, I wouldn't be surprised. If someone hinted me that the circumstances are dropping into ice-cold ocean water somewhere in other universe, I would strongly recommend that person to go to the doctor's. There were no doctors in ice-cold ocean water around me.
1. Chapter 1 - Loser

**Chapter 1**

**Loser**

A heavy mug with some dark liquid nearly burned the blanket I was wrapped in. My hands shook beyond control but I didn't hurry to look out of the cocoon – though, probably, it made sense to take another warming sip. The fuss was quickly calming down, the caboose buzzed on its usual own, no one cared to bother me.

With a heating oven right by, I still couldn't help shaking.

It can't be. It cannot possibly be possible.

A guy with exactly the same mug in his hands dropped on the deck beside me, his hair still dripping, though he had already changed into some dry clothes. I recognized him by a long scar stretching from the left ear down to the collarbone. It was him who got me aboard.

He took a good pull of his drink and nodded at the one in my hands with a smirk.

Well, it can't be helped.

I gave a sigh. I would be very well giving it a try if I could.

"How on Earth did you get yourself into it?" asked my diving pal. Though for him it had been indeed some casual diving, while I still kept trembling even half an hour later. Dark-haired and light-eyed, with sharp features, he could have been my brother, have I ever had one. Have the pirate not been this tanned.

The pirate, Jesus tap-dancing Christ!

I started shaking even worse. Getting angry at myself and my situation, I threw back my head, shaking the blanket off it, and took a large gulp. A hot, but not a boiling-water-hot already, it streamed down my throat and disappeared somewhere on its way to my freezing guts. I sipped a bit more, this time realizing it was glogg, and it was delicious, and by the end of the portion I shook way harder than before. Yet after it I felt much better.

The diving pal smiled approvingly and, having finished his drink, took our mugs away. I hid my face on the blanket again, planning to stay in this cozy nook till the death, either from the concussion or from the shock, with no possibility for anyone to dig me out of here, be it the entire crew of the ship.

My glorious diver returned with another portion and ordered me to drink without doubts. I started doubting immediately – and obediently took a burning sip.

"Better?"

"Yup." I was surprised to hear any voice at all, it did not sound like my voice, not even my usual sore-throat voice, but still. Or was it even my own body?

A terrifying idea made me stare at my hands wildly. Nope, my sci-fi lovers, those were absolutely mine. Well, they looked dreadful with the jagged nails, all beaten and soar from the sea salt. No wonder. I've been through… a lot. A look the pirate gave at my dumb staring at my hands, made me blush. What an idiot, really.

"Yeah, thank you very much."

He shrugged and leaned his back against the galley wall.

"My name is Jason."

Jason. Great.

"I'm Jay."

Well, not really, but let it be.

The guy giggled, and it took me a while to understand that our names sounded quite alike.

"So, Jay, why you did you decide to have a swim so far away from the coast? Let alone the weather."

How should I know?

Well, really, how?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I remembered falling down. It was tremendously high, so that I couldn't surface right away, so that my head was still splitting and my nose was still aching like hell. It didn't really matter now that my chest burned as though I was still underwater.

I must have not lost my consciousness then, as I managed to pull my head out of water, blinded by whipping waves and suffocating.

And then a cramp shoots through my leg up to the hip and I start to sink like a hammer.

I twitched my leg, hitting the hill on the floor painfully, and opened my eyes wide. Geez, I must have been wonderfully washed, I kept dreaming it all over and over again wide awake, even here in a warm and dry caboose.

But how did I get in the water at all?

My scull literally screamed, and… fuck!

"I don't remember," I said, frowning. Oh, really? Hit your head on a rock, have you? Poor thing.

How, oh God, how?

"Okay, don't push yourself," said someone else above our heads. "It will come on its own later, trust my hangover record."

I looked up. The man speaking in a pleasant baritone was wearing a white suit and a yellow scarf. I started shaking again.

"I'd rather you go," said Jason. "Your bearded kisser scares the shit out of the lady,"

"Fancy that!" Thatch raised his voice. "Some kitchen-hand ordering the cook around! Move aside, will you, I can't imagine you being liked by a girl at all, let alone being liked more than I am."

He sat by and looked into my wine.

"You don't like it?"

"It's delicious," I plunged my face into the mug.

Thatch. The Thatch. The Moby Dick. With the Whitebeard somewhere in his cabin.

Ace.

Teach.

Fuck.

I got to get the fuck out of here. Now.

"We found you, er, sailing three miles away from the coastline. We are not asking you how you got there, but we don't' go back either,"

"I understand," I nodded. Once you stop thinking about how impossible your situation may be, you realize that it's naïve to hope that the ship changes its course for the sake of your mere chilled person. I was not naïve. Well, not always. Besides, I really appreciated the pirates' saving me at all.

"And… the next island?"

Thatch looked a little surprised. At least, he looked friendly in general.

"I'm afraid, the next inhabited island is no sooner than in a month and a half,"

Fuck.

Please. Please!

"And some uninhabited one?"

"Two of them. A winter and an autumn one,"

I'm doomed.

I put my mug away and curled up in my blanket, hiding my face in the knees. A month and a half on a pirate ship, the ship where something fucked up happens now and then, the ship which is relatively and oh so very likely soon to be involved in a big boom with some big stars starring. And, of course, I can always choose freezing to death in the winter island. Pretty cool.

Is it a dream?

Am I dreaming?

Thatch shook my shoulder with force.

"Are you feeling sick? Are you hungry?"

Pretty please, dumbass, just get off.

"I'm alright. Just a bit homesick,"

Damn right, I am. I want to get back in my small bed with a spring sticking out of it, to my ever-empty fridge, which is quite usual for a dorm. I want to rush to the lecture early in the morning just to come late again and take my sit stealthily.

I want to wake up.

"You just got dizzy abask," said Jason, standing up.

"You're right. Let's find her a calmer place". Thatch rose too, and they went away.

Thank God.

If I don't wake up now, I will have to deal with them for more than a month.

I felt sick and pathetic. It was quite clear I wasn't going to wake up. No dream can handle the "It's just a dream" spell, no delusion spreads beyond the statement of its unreality. It is a law, a general fucking rule taught at the first year of the psychology course.

I regretted being so well aware of that for a moment. The next moment I has glad, a second later I nearly wept at the fact I wasn't studying physics. I could have figured out how I had managed to get into this, I could have gone back to my world. I could have gained profit out of my trip!

No one bothered me. The galley gradually became almost empty. I was drowsing in my blanket cocoon. When Thatch came up to me the oven was already cooling down. I twitched and looked at the man with suspicion. He chuckled.

"C'mon, we found you a room. It's pretty dry, though quite dusty, I'm afraid,"

I got up very slowly, my legs weak, my head booming.

It's a nightmare. Now I see.

The cook opened the door before me, and, stepping out of the warm galley, I cowered. The cold deck bit at my bare feet. Thatch cursed to himself and swept me up with ease.

I froze.

It became even colder at the thought that I was staying on the motherfucking pirate ship. Me, a strange girl from nowhere.

I was scared. I had never been a goody-goody girl, I knew the dark streets of my district pretty well to feel safe there. It was different here.

Besides, in the dark streets there was always a chance to stay away from trouble. Here I was trapped on the same board with a bunch of men. Sailors. Rascals.

I felt so terrified that even if Thatch had put me down, I would just have stayed there, petrified.

He kicked open a door, and opened another with care, turning, carefully letting go of the handle, still holding me and the blanket which was about to unwrap.

"Here ya land, lil' beast," he said, and stood me on the deck. He reached out somewhere in complete darkness, he struck a match, and a small flame danced in the glass of an old oil lamp. "Need help getting into the hammock?"

I shook my head looking down. Under my feet planks were scruffy – I hoped with a sudden touch of disgust that they were just scruffy, not dirty – and dry, and way warmer than the deck outside.

"You have only four hours left, but still – good night,"

"Good night, Thatch," I said looking at his wide back.

The pirate turned his head slightly and said nothing, and then his silhouette disappeared behind the door.

Idiot.

You are not supposed to know his name.


	2. Chapter 2 - Payback

**Chapter 2**

**Payback **

This is hilarious.

The thought wouldn't let me go till the very moment when, out of the blue, after two hours of quite sound sleep, came yet another lovely thought: Apparently, I make a very, very bad sailor.

Why, hello, nausea.

Happily, it was not getting over the edge, but I felt so sick that it was no longer possible to fall asleep again. Moreover, I had to sleep on the floor from then on, it was a lot easier to stay on a cool and hard surface. So, very soon my two blankets and the mattress were happily collecting all the dust Thatch was so concerned about. Not that I cared, really. The rocking which was supposed to lull you to sleep romantically made me hate my sorry vestibular system. I felt sick and dizzy. My hot head felt even sicker and dizzier than myself, which usually happened when I had a really bad fever. I mean, really bad one, no less than 38 degrees by old good Celsius.

Everything around me…

… well, it all looked like a fairy tale. It was by no means a fairy tale – it only did look like one.

My scull seemed to be cracking all over, twisting the background noises.

Somewhere behind the walls, behind the two doors and somewhere beneath the floor deep down under there were people. A huge flock of pirates, still sleepy and grumpy because of the early morning, - dropping things and just dropping down.

Up there should have been the wind singing between the ropes. But there was no wind, I could hear only mumbled cursing and rustle of rain.

It rolled, and shook, and threw me around on the floor.

Hilarious.

I longed for some more sleep, it wasn't possible, no way, I failed to sleep a wink like that. I couldn't get up either, because of the vertigo and the fear to fall over and break my neck. I already knew I was just that much of a loser to pull something like this.

_The wind slapped my face, throwing my hair around, and the locks, all icy and frozen, stung my chilling skin like sharp icicles. The eyelashes stuck and froze together, and when I winked, some lashes glued to my lower eyelid. _

_I did not give a damn. _

_Not a damn about my eyelashes, my hair, my weather-beaten hands and cough stuck dead somewhere down my windpipe, and the wind punching me with its icy fist so strongly that it was impossible to simply inhale. I did not give a damn. _

_It was not very cold outside, really._

_The real cold curled deep inside me, choking me to death, twisting my body so that I no longer reminded of a human being. Way too terrified that it would not ease. Way too hateful at those who did this to me. Way too hateful at myself to return to my old self. _

_I had to erase it. To forget and to stop this. _

_The wind tried to hold me back, but I was way colder, way tougher. The only thing I needed was a good runout. _

_Good enough to fly. _

I sat up, pressing my hand to the mouth. My stomach jumped and somersaulted, my body was covered in sweat, and my eyesight was still blanketed with darkness.

What was this just now?

I waited till my stomach remembered it had nothing to throw up, and lied down again, having barely adjusted the twisted blankets.

Was it… a nightmare?

I recalled the image. The sea licked the rocks, it was black and gloomy, and so was the dark sky, the rocks and even the air.

My chest felt empty and lacked air as though I was falling again, and it got even worse.

I tried to exhale slowly, till my lungs felt burned, the inhaled even slower. It helped.

After all, my childish nightmares back at the orphanage had taught me some tricks.

I sensed someone's presence and raised my head a bit, my elbows against the floor.

"Are you okay?" The cook's head popped in. He was quite surprised to see me lying on the deck. I forced a smile to show him I was alright.

"It seems I'm just not cut out for sailing."

"Oh," he frowned. "Then you wouldn't mind walking to the sick bay, I guess."

And I guess I better keep my trap shut not to be a trouble.

I straightened up, pulling down the shirt I'd been given, and made a long face, remembering that it kept raining outside. I had neither raincoat, nor shoes. Besides, this shirt covered the thighs, of course, but some pants would have done it way better. Thatch nodded at the door.

"Your boots are dry and waiting. They may be a bit unsuitable for the weather, but still better than nothing, right?"

Boots. Wow.

The boots turned out to be light ballet slippers made of fabric, quite worn – and obviously expensive. Sequined at the toes with beads that looked like real pearls.

I never had anything like these.

I got into the shoes obediently, and immediately felt them biting at my feet. I had to change the shoes as soon as possible if I didn't plan to get corns.

My usual luck.

Thatch looked me up and down and suddenly smirked to himself. Then he grabbed my hand and slammed the front door open. He reached out and pointed at some building across the deck.

"See the door? At the count of three!"

Huh?

What the-

"THREE!" yelled the cook and rushed across the soaked deck, pulling me by the wrist.

There was no way for me to make any step, let alone running – I glided after him, pulled forward and along, the rain tapped at my head and I had no chance to see a thing in my way…

A motherfucking door, for example.

It was closed. And I would not mind its staying damn closed. Apparently, Thatch didn't see it coming too. He lost his balance when we crushed against the door, and flew inside after me, having tripped over my feet.

A bit my lip and screamed internally.

He rolled off me hastily and I turned over. Someone laughed and applauded loudly above my head. Well, great. The audience.

I climbed onto my feet, clinging to someone's hand, wobbling. The cook finished taking his bows and looked at my face worriedly.

"Hey, how are you?"

How should I know?!

"I'm… alive," I said with a pause. Why did he have to gallop in the rain, after all?

"Good news!" he nodded seriously, and the pirate who helped me up, chuckled. I glanced at him.

Well, hope springs eternal, they say.

Mine was just burnt to the ground. To the deck, to be more particular.

Waking up in the morning, I wondered, maybe, I got here a bit too early? Maybe, Ace was still sailing on his own, right?

He nodded, greeting me, and glared at Thatch. The cook wailed in defense.

"I didn't mean to mess the lady up!" he grabbed my hand again. "Anyway, we were heading at the sick bay."

"Godspeed," laughed someone. I did my best not to blush. Luckily, I blushed quite seldom.

We went through a large and brightly lit and warm room, which might very well be the mess-room, we crossed an allied dining hall, then went down to an armory through a small hatch. I looked around with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was interesting. On the other, I wanted to see nothing of the detail. The less I know the better. It was not real. Nothing of it.

Oh, let's just omit the fact I dived my nose down to a very real deck not so long ago.

While the mess-room was too smoky and crowded to peer about in, the dining hall – it may sound too posh, but you just couldn't call it a canteen – was a long chamber with solid furniture and two long tables stretching along it. The walls were lined by tidy cupboards and barrels. The armory was clean as well, and it was sparkling with metal as far as the eye could reach. We entered one of the two doors, covered a long corridor with plenty different doors all along it, and, climbing into another hatch, found ourselves at the sick bay.

I would never have found it on my own, I wouldn't even smell it out.

Curiously, the sick bay, huge and well-lit, was silent and empty – something new for me on this ship. I got hot and dizzy from the fast walking and started coughing loudly, so the door slammed open before Thatch raised his hand to push it.

A tall, not an inch shorter than the cook himself, girl, who might be in her twenties as well as in her thirties – the blondes of this type grow up very fast and grow old really slowly, - waved her hand, inviting us to enter.

So we did.

"Leso, darling, is Demi in?"

"She just got back from the Pop's room," Leso answered in a low voice. Thatch sighed. "Oh, alright, then…"

"Who the hell is there?"

At the door at the farthest end on the room appeared a woman, tall as well, though not as tall as Leso, and her trademark boots were plain brown, not leopard-patterned. Her gown was a bit more modest and comfortable than Leso's and she seemed older.

"Ah, pneumonia here."

"I hope not," I said. Thatch added:

"We're nauseous."

"Good for you, maybe, you'll ease off on drinking," said the doctor mercifully and nodded at me: "You stay."

I released myself from Thatch's friendly grip and headed along the aisle between long rows of beds. The screens near each place were open, so when I came up to the farthest door I knew no one of the Whitebeard's crew was sick.

It was… good.

"Demi, sweetheart, why not?"

"Because I don't want you around," she said in a sharp voice. "Leso, go to my office."

She added something else in a low hiss, and Thatch left, mumbling at himself. The doctor came to the office being even more out of sorts than before. Why on Earth would Thatch risk angering her?

"So, what do we have there? Nausea?" She frowned. "Ever sailed before?"

"Never," I answered in a small voice.

"Pregnant?"

"No."

"Have you had your breakfast?"

I shook my head. I have not had my breakfast. I'm not up to having it. The doctor gave a sigh and stood up, reaching up to the cabinets above her workplace.

"Well," she placed a small bottle of pills on the desk before me. Having thought for a moment, she shook out four pills on my palm. "You go and have a decent snack at the caboose, say them it's my prescription, if they ask you why you're late for the meal. If you don't feel better, take one pill in half an hour. It'll help. Do the same after each meal, don't take any while fasted."

I see, I see. I may be dreaming but I ain't no crazy.

I hope so.

"If you start coughing, go straight to my office," she warned. "You spent a lot of time in cold water, pneumonia will be no surprise."

She sighed again and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her front pocket.

I thanked her and made my way out in haste, well aware that I was not going to the galley. I could handle hunger. I could handle the sickness which was slowly fading, by the way. Though I certainly felt like taking a nap.

Entering the corridor again, I stopped. It was empty and it was great, so I didn't see any point going anywhere anymore. It made no sense. It was no good to get into the smoky mess-room again. It sucked to soak through on the deck once more trying to get back to my room.

I felt like sitting down by the wall and waiting while my sickness was away. It could be so lovely done while sleeping.

But if some pirate finds me like this…

Some pirate. Pirates. Jesus.

How did I even…

What have I done to deserve this? I'm a total mouse.

Maybe that was the reason. I belonged nowhere.

Damn.

My thoughts mixed and twisted and hopped, my head kept booming like a big bell.

I wonder if I were still able to think straight, have I been feeling well? It's obvious I am that calm because I am such a mess. Or did I underestimate my gut?

Doubtful.

I got trapped inside an anime series.

In my own body. I think.

Well, at least, this body does not look like some animation. And all the surroundings are in the same three dimensions I'm used to living in. And colors. And sounds.

Real people, real rain and real ship. Fuck, how did I do it?

What is the last thing I can recall?

What was the last thing I was doing before I found myself in the ocean? I squeezed my eyes shut.

I felt sleepy. Even worse than before.

And it was stuffy. And the light suddenly was too bright. And…

My head tried to explode with booming and twitching. What the hell is this…

I pressed my fingers to pumping temples and leaned to the closest wall, trying to catch on my breath. I heard a door slap, then some footsteps.

And then I saw legs right in front of my face.

"What's going on, yoi?"

A good question.

"A headache," I wheezed, trying to sit up.

In any case, it was weird to face a person you've seen before on your monitor, being rather… different. He didn't offer me a hand, I got up myself. I prefer not to talk about at which try it finally happened.

"You're the floater from yesterday."

"I am."

"How did you get in the ocean?" I hated this tone. Disgustingly calm and reserved, hiding whatever emotions were behind it, if there were any. Annoying.

I stared at the pineapple. The pineapple stared back.

"I wish I knew."

The eyebrows - ever-risen, ever-cocked, so that even an alien like me didn't take it as an expression of surprise, - twitched a bit.

"Have I insulted you, yoi?"

"Have I insulted you?"

"Not yet."

"Questions?"

He looked down at me with light, clear eyes. With no superiority, no sign of his own significance or any trace of irritation. Nothing. Completely blank stare.

I sighed sharply, unable to hold back anger, which forced away my sickness.

Go to hell.

The anime, huh? He's pissing me out oh so very really.

He grinned, keeping the icy cold stare on me. Well then.

I couldn't be rude with Demi because it was her right and her job to order her patients around. She was not simply fed up with the pirates. While the First Division Commander pulled the trigger.

He probably didn't mean it.

I don't mean being rude with him either. I can't help being rude with him.

It must have been extremely silly to stand in the middle of the corridor in silence.

It must have gotten into hid bald head as well, as he continued walking. I, clinging to the wall, followed him. Faaaar behind him.

Did it even matter?

In the mess-room Jason jumped up to me and led me to the galley, having lent me his overcoat. He asked no stupid questions, he did not touch me, he didn't give me any strange looks.

That's what I call a perfect pirate.

_Spicy and almost dead dry, meadows waved and danced under caressing wind. Autumn always gave up to winter very gradually here, and slowly approaching cold, sleep and death were drifting high in empty air, so that no one could notice them coming. And even worse than the fall of the autumn island was the summer of the winter island. One summer day was too little to feel, three summer days were too many to let them go. While the fall of autumn just drags on and on. _

_The remaining coronae of the high wild grass tickled my cheeks slightly and strewed over my dress. _

_I better keep it clean. Or Mother gets upset again._

_I stood up slowly, and my head swam. Heavy storm clouds floated high above, menacing and threatening. Almost as scary as Derry's threats were. _

_I felt sick at the thought of him, the meadows cracked in my desperate grip, unable to help me stand. My knees went weak. _

_I have to go back home. It cannot be true, anyways._

_I straightened up and walked to the edge of the field. And as I came up to the wood belt, a rock hard air hit me so strongly that I flew backwards. My throat went dry and clenched; I couldn't twitch, move, breathe or scream, my heart sank. I pressed my palms to the face without feeling it, hearing only my pulse pumping in my head, when the world was smitten in darkness._

I choked and jerked, my head reacted immediately to this move, and I moaned and doubled over, pressing my forehead against the table.

I didn't care about how greasy the table was.

Someone touched my shoulder, now I knew better than twitching.

"What is it?"

A pushy one. Look, Birdy, just leave me alone, act human once in a while…

"It's nothing," I managed to utter it out, my face still against the table. He chuckled skeptically enough for me to catch it. Oh, I'm an ace at catching skepticism, you know.

"Head's splitting. I can't remember..."

"Remember what, yoi?"

"I dunno!"

I clenched my eyes so hard it hurt. It was no use.

It was scary. And sick. Above all it was painful.

God…

Something grey slammed on the table on front of me. I looked grimly first at the cloth, then at the guy who threw it from the other end of the galley.

"What? That's yours, after all!" cried a cocky blond pirate with a ponytail. Thatch, busy with something highly important near the fridge, turned at that.

"Dammit, Leas! One does not throw some shit at the dining table!" He shrugged and added, glancing at me: "No offense."

Leas beamed, I hurriedly pulled the cloth away from the table, it dropped subtly on my knees. I quickly recalled what a cook must feel when there is such a threat for the tidiness of his kingdom. The fabric was rough and scratchy, and it felt feeble and rotten in my hands. It amazed me. Such luxurious shoes and these clothes?

I got up and carefully unfolded the cloth. Thatch, to his credit, said nothing, or just turned back to his work.

It was a dress.

Greyish blue, full-length, long-sleeved and plain. It rang no bells, it reminded of nothing, it looked absolutely strange to me. It might once have been my size, but having been washed in sea water and dried at the furnace, it had lost its shape and shrunk.

What's with this fabric?

"It seems like I'll prefer my current outfit." Look at me, what a nerve. Looting on pirates' wardrobe. The cook shrugged, Leas snorted and, taking the dress, disappeared outdoors.

"And I have nothing to pay back with."

"Then how are you planning to go home?" I caught a hint of mockery in Thatch's voice.

No idea.

"I'll figure out."

"I bet." Thatch nodded at his bubbling pot and laughed, "You will have to sail across the Grand Line for a month and a half, over three islands, without money, shoes and clothes. And then go all the way back, hell knows how, with whom and at what cost, because you don't know a thing about work."

"What makes you think so?" I asked angrily – and loudly enough for all the pirates crowding the caboose to look back at us.

Hey, Thatch, guess what, a guy called Sanji wouldn't let anyone near him while cooking.

"Oh," the cook turned around and grinned at me, "So, what can you do, lil' beast?"

I opened my mouth.

And shut it.

I can inflect Latin verbs. I can type without looking and render first aid with the help of a first aid kit and clear directions.

I may be overdramatizing, but I don't have a belly to buy a ticket back. And nothing I can give the pirates for saving my life.

Anyone can clean up. I cannot help about the ship, it would take ages to learn sailorizing. No way will I ever climb up a jack-ladder. I can't even knit!

Fine.

I'm no use in the sea. I'm seasick indeed.

"You won."

"I know," Thatch seemed satisfied. Ego-tripping on me. Such courtesy. "What about you stay at the galley?"

Well, I am at the galley and…

No. No-no-no.

"I don't cook."

"Please, don't," Thatch asked. "But I can still teach you to peel potatoes."

I laughed bitterly.

"How can it help me?"

"Oh, it will help you," he nodded very seriously, "If you ever tell someone you've been a kitchen-hand at the Whitebeard's ship, you'll get the credit. Unless you tell it to someone with a seagull on the flag," he added, a bit less enthusiastic and smiled from ear to ear.

I felt like howling out loud.

What choice did I have? I had to appreciate the opportunity given to me. I didn't want to.

I hate cooking. Cooks appear to me some god-like creatures, four-handed Kalis armed with kitchen gear instead of weapons. Not even necessarily knives, they still scared the sensitive me, who always preferred brainwork.

"I hope your Father won't have to listen to your complaints," I mumbled grimly, causing a chuckle of approval.

"The lil' beast bites."

I glanced angrily at the cook's back. I do bite. Sometimes literally. Wanna see?

Well, at least I'll keep myself busy within the next six weeks.


	3. Chapter 3 - Adaptation

**Chapter 3**

**Adaptation**

The ceiling of my box of a room sank in darkness, and the corners were splattered by the patches of black, mixed with the flashes of light, getting inside through the slit under the door. I wondered what was going on there, why there was light in my "reception area". I didn't move, I felt weird, lying on my mattress, surrounded by blackness, as though I was a part of some sci-fi story.

Well, basically, I was.

And I gradually started to realize it fully, apparently, only now that two days had passed.

What a slow poke.

My palms were recovering little by little, and I felt my bed, seeking for something. Fabric was rougher than the sheets back home, the stuffing of the mattress was clotted. The darkness smelt of the woolen blanket and soap which failed to force out the scent of tobacco, and, a very little subtle bit, - of bitter smoke. The oil lamp reeked.

I took a deep breath. It tasted of salt. My head swam a bit. A slight draft swept the floor. I moved my hand in darkness, feeling the floor planks, soft crumbles of dust, scratchy edge of a woolen sock – I had no special place to store my clothes. I remembered it was stupid purple. A nice match for my exquisite ballet shoes, you see. Oh, right, they were never mine. That was the point.

Why were they supposed to be mine?

Why was I here? The darkness descended from the ceiling silently, covering me. I listened out to it, searching for the detail. Every single bit mattered. I paid attention to the detail, as long as none of it could make things clear – or more complicated.

I rolled over, my hair under my cheek. It might have only seemed to me, but my hair was shorter back home. And certainly not this wavy. Besides, back then I had an ugly sunken stomach.

I closed my eyes. That was the best I could figure out by now. My body was scratched and bruised, and though they had all been properly washed, they pained me, swollen because of the salty ocean water. They started to nag each time my head stopped aching, taking turns. It was worse with the head, as recently we had… issues.

My own brain betrayed me and my mind concealed most of my memories with visions. Well, thank you, bitch.

I must have been losing my mind. If there still was any. Bad news, my darling schizophrenia. I hope I'm not hearing from you only because you are not there for me…

I bent my knees, and, accidentally stroking the scratches, felt chills down my spine. I winced – and my face burned. Whoa, how nice. My skin felt hot, thin and oversensitive. It seemed like a bad freeze burn. And, as Demi said, pneumonia would be a nice final touch.

Ah. Demi. A harsh and sharp chain-smoker. Too real to be a fairy healer from some fairy tale.

The nurse girl. A tall, shy, and, yes, in those leopard high boots. Though her mini-robe was already enough to drive a man mad. The man kept it together still. He must have gotten used to seeing them.

Thatch.

The most interesting part. Yay, schizophrenia!

He did introduce me to the caboose. He did teach me to peel potatoes. Dammit.

The knife was hard to handle, and I felt ashamed to fully display my being a great failure at cooking. In front of the cook.

He must have been… surprised, for sure.

Jeez, really, why here? Of all books and films, why this universe? Why can't I remember what happened? I don't even remember falling down, banging my head, which would explain everything, I just found my sorry ass floating.

This is crazy.

Well, thank you too, brain. Now that I finally put up with this reality you refuse to cooperate.

The darkness was soothing. The sickness was coming back, though it had eased away yesterday thanks to the pill Demi had given me, thanks to Thatch watching me carefully and making me take the meds.

By the way, what about the Fruits here?

This thought made me sit up with a start, then my stomach declared a mutiny and my brain exploded in pain. Ouch. Well, I must be certainly insane, if I got to distinguish my body parts as independent states… Never mind.

If it is real, then, may be, there can be some information about parallel universes? Some Kuma hanging around to send me back home. That would be… cute indeed.

Moving stealthily on the rocking deck, I got to the washing tub, where I spent a while after having done all the necessary procedures your mom tells you to do – powder nose, pull the pants, wash your hands. And your swollen, like some drunkard's, face as well. I stared in the muddy old looking glass above the tub. I've been brushing my teeth with my finger for two days already. That won't do. I have to ask Thatch to get a toothbrush for me. It may be embarrassing, but he had no problem lending me some pants, after all.

The reflection looked grim, but I kept staring. It all felt disturbingly weird.

Oh, really?

All jokes aside, given all the trouble I got myself into and all the madness of the situation, the problem was somewhere in me. All I had to know was where.

"What is it, cutie?" asked someone's mocking voice. Yep, I know I am a cutie, right now. "Having trouble stopping admiring?"

It would be stupid to start a row. I knew better than taking offense at the jokes about my looks. I just squeezed past between the wall and the skinny guy, who stood at another tub next to me and looked like an old hippie who once had been not so above some speeds. That was weird, the pirates have got up early, why is he still here at all? Closing the door behind me, I heard a muffled creepy laughter and felt uneasy.

Well, freaks are frequent. Here they are prevailing. Not only in numbers.

You know what I mean. I had a chance to see the Whitebeard.

To actually catch a glimpse. With the corner of my eye. Not even face him. Not even full-size.

That was quite enough. I trembled; my mouth dropped open, then started to clatter. The world went black and blank in my eyes.

Yes, I'm a hell of a wuss.

That was the very moment I started to believe. The Conqueror's Haki, the providence and the Enel's anger. And, beyond all doubts, the Power of Badass of this man. He was indeed much higher than an ordinary person. Not just twice or thrice as high, that's what I can be sure about even without gut to come closer.

And I realized the meaning of the term "aura". This is actually when you suddenly get caught in a wind blowing so that you feel like step-dancing – well, you legs feel like that without your permission. Without your being ever taught to dance – your knees go weak and act on their own.

And - your mind is hammered down into oblivion.

I made my escape from the main deck as soon as I could, feeling even more insane than I was already getting used to.

"Are you through?" my very own beach-rescue asked – well, he's way cooler than his Malibu colleagues, though. Indeed – charmingly shaggy and needing a shaving, with two earrings in his left ear. Small rings of tarnished silver with some unfaceted yellow-green gems in the middle. "Thatch said you are to help us cook, c'mon, I'll show you around while you're still alive."

Oh, great. No, that was really good, as I no longer had a nerve to wander around alone after that tub meeting, and not-actually-meeting-but-still with the glorious captain of the ship. I didn't even know whether I wanted to forget it.

It didn't matter. There was hardly any way to forget such thing.

While Jason is my perfect pirate and it's quite natural to appreciate his great taste for jewelry.

"Have you sailed before?"

"Hardly."

"You don't seem lost here, you know."

That's a completely misleading impression, pal.

"I can hardly remember too many things. But as long as I know what to do, I can live on."

"Well said," the pirate nodded. We went downstairs through the hatch in the caboose's floor into a dark and cold room. "Here's the fridge. If there is the opportunity to replenish supplies of fresh fruit and vegetables, we store them all in here, if not, we either preserve them with salt or sugar, or dry them. In general, there are always conserved supplies, so we try to use fresh ones at first place. The perishable foods are in the boxes which are closest to the entrance. The canned ones are at the farthest wall. The dried ones are hanged to the ceiling, so in order to get one of them…" he paused and looked down at me, then up at the ceiling. "…call for help. Behind the next door we store meat, it's colder in there and it's more airtight. You will take a look later if you like."

We got back to the caboose, Jason slammed open the door at the other end of the room, the one facing the wall allied to the dining hall. There was a narrow space with two tables and two cupboards at the long walls and another big kitchen sink, like one at the caboose, near the short wall.

"This is the storage room. Here we keep all the necessary foods, it's usually an amount for two days without going down to the fridge. All the spices and flavors are over there," he waved at the shelves at both sides of the door. I giggled:

"It's too early for me to know that."

"And here's the sink to wash all the stuff not to get the caboose messy."

"There's still a thing I don't quite understand. How does Thatch manage to cook for all the crew?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the galley does not seem to be too big, and of all his assistants I have seen only you."

"Ah, that," Jason ruffled his hair. "The ship's triple-deck."

I blinked blankly. Jason sighed.

"Three decks except the main one. The fridge's on the lower deck, us the kitchen and the sick bay are on the middle deck. The state cabins the crew quarters are at the heart of the hull, the deck's are along the boards."

I certainly didn't get it.

"Okay, let's say there are many cabooses that share the areas and the clients," Jason grinned. "We cater the Second and the Fourth Divisions. And besides Thatch and me there are Joseph and Cherry. Besides, cabin boys are on errand. If you manage to catch one and make him work for you."

But… two divisions count two hundred!

"Impossible," I shook my head.

"Usually my twin bro helps too, but he's out on the mission with Vista's men now," Jason shrugged, "So you might be useful indeed."

I still felt dizzy because of the numbers.

"You… You haven't seen me at the galley, have you?"

"Oh. It can't be that bad," he smiled widely and mockingly.

"It can be even worse."

"Look's who's here scaring the fu-… em," no, really, I liked him. He's handsome, well-mannered… Hey, it's a bad idea to touch my hair! "Nevermind. Little one."

Excuse me?

…he's skinny and cocky, too.

The pirate burst out laughing and stubbornly ruffled my scruffy braid. Oh, you're on my blacklist now, man.

"As your entitled savior," he said, meeting my hostile glance. I couldn't answer without being rude, so I said nothing. "All in all, Johnson will be back soon, and we were doing well before without him. I doubt you can fail so… globally."

"I assure you, my small fail can be truly epic," I grumbled.

"Is that a threat?"

"It is."

"Probably I'd better lock you in here in the storage room, then."

How nice of you.

"Well, I actually don't mind…"

"Nope," he laughed. "We go and wash artichokes."

Hope I won't _choke_ you in process.

"All hands ahoy!"

Thatch said it so happily that it seemed as though he didn't actually know the meaning of the idiom.

"A starving gang is coming our way. So have a quick snack and join Jason, I'll need all hands on deck."

I wish I shared his enthusiasm.

I obediently munched whatever he gave me, I didn't recognize neither the dish nor the taste of it, as I felt sick again and the bitter bile flavor filled my mouth, and headed to the storage room, as waved at to by a large kitchen cleaver.

Jason grinned for the greeting and entrusted me with washing vegetables. He whispered on my ear in order not to attract the attention of the two other kitchen-hands, that after I finished arranging the green to dry off, I must hide immediately. When Thatch was on the rush it was dangerous to get in his way, he warned.

Very helpful information that was, though I had no chance to use it.

By the way, the day before I hadn't found out a thing about the Devil Fruits. The day had been all races. I had been the hound, racing to a fro to the sick bay and back to the galley. Demi had warned Thatch that if I didn't have my daily medical check, he would have been never allowed in. Even if he got shot or something.

Oh, it was him who was threatened, right? It was I who had to even it all out. Sure, why not.

Well, yes, it was I who was taken care of, but still.

I didn't ask for it. I would have perfectly made do on my own. And I had spent all day rushing to the sick bay and back to the galley. Now all the nurses knew my name. One of them even got crossed with me.

I remember. I promised myself to be a good girl, to take care, not to be a trouble for the crew and not to ever, ever make enemies with anyone.

Look, I failed.

By the way, I didn't even understand why I pissed the girl off that much. But I couldn't leave such a straightforward low conduct without answer.

Demi had won. She had suggested the two of us went and cooled off in nice cold soothing water underkeel. Well, Demi is a kind of Nami as well, just Nami who smokes and curses like Sanji, that is. Anyway, it had helped.

I had problems reflecting upon the Strawhat Pirates as really existing people in this world. Well, that was for good. I was too busy recently to muse about any unreality at all.

I worked in the storage room all the time. The caboose during the cooking process seemed too scary for me just to stay there. All these ovens, pots, utensils, alive and rocking with the waves… God.

Did I mention I hated kitchen?

Well, I must emphasize, I hated the galley in the sea. It was almost like my fear of heights.

And – wash this, scrub that, no, you butters, these are too thick, that's too much, hey, quicker, bring that, take those to the caboose, no, not them, these're garbage, aw, how have you been surviving all this years at all?

I wish I knew!

By each meal I crawled out of the storage room, nearly fainting from the mess, rush, noise and stuffiness. Add constant rocking here. When I say I crawled, I mean it. Of course, if Jason didn't carry me. So, I didn't have time to see any new faces of the arriving pirates. Even if there was someone… fictional, I hardly noticed.

Oh, and, by the end of the first day, my status of "a failure" was successfully upgraded to "the catastrophe".

I tried to warn you, Jason.

The second day was even worse. May be because it was even noisier at the caboose, given the fact that there were less people. Pirates crowded the room all the time, though, probably, not as aimlessly as always.

By the evening Thatch took me to the main deck and pointed at something in the sky.

'Over there."

It took me a while to realize it was not the sky he wanted to show me. Something a bit lower.

Among the waves a small ship rocked and danced, with tiny masts which looked like matches from afar.

"Whose ship is that?"

"Kidding? It's ours," the cook shrugged looking annoyed as though he explained obvious things. Then he tidied his hair ceremoniously out of a sudden, clearly parodying somebody. "There will be a long-awaited meeting in no longer than two bells…"

"Whom are you-?" I started to ask automatically. Behind us someone with a voice so subtile that I jumped up forgetting about my terrible state, said suddenly:

"A bell and a half, my poor friend with the dead time sense. A bell and a half."

Izou.

Holy shit.

"Hey, lil' beast, mind gravity, your jaw's dropping!" yelled the cook merrily, immediately causing a terrible urge to kill him. "That's too flattering for this asshole," he added, pointing at the graceful, wondrous creature as unapologetically as at the ship before. The gunslinger silently raised his eyebrows for the moment.

I looked away. The next moment Thatch was already pulling me back to the caboose, mumbling something about the starving gang, dull assholes, a big booze and damned bells.

God. And I thought I was a crazy one here.

"Was there any particular reason to bring the girl here?" asked Izou meaning no offense. Almost.

"Well, that's better than leave her with the old geezers," Haruta snorted. "Vista has already started to hocus-pocus for her."

As for me, I didn't mind watching Vista hocus-pocusing.

I had liked Vista as a fictional character long before I saw him here. Now that I met him… He was a real womanizer. The top hat, the gloves – he would have made a real illusionist, had he not been an enormously huge man with an enormously huge moustache and a large sword. Which, - I still craved to know how, - strewed the deck with flowers and petals.

That could have been perfectly used in hocus-pocusing as well, by the way.

These tyrants took me away from unraveling the biggest secret of the series. And deprived me of the company of a real gentleman.

Do I have to say I was already a bit tipsy? No wonder, after two rushed days and three nights of insomnia. Still, now I wouldn't risk going somewhere alone. Except for, probably, a silent escape to my room.

"In fact, I would like to go to sleep," I tried to free my elbow from the grip, but instead was pushed in the back by Thatch, who walked behind and carried full packs of food.

"Keep going, lil' beast, don't act a priest."

"Whoa, poetry here!" Ace whistled, catching a bottle thrown at him.

"Meanwhile, some people understand only expletives," grumbled the First Division Commander. It was his state-cabin the company had burst into. Izou smiled subtly, sweeping a bunch of pillows from a hammock and a narrow bed down to the floor. Haruta laughed, it was his and Vista's divisions return to the Moby Dick that had become the reason for the big booze.

And it was perfectly clear that I, a person who got aboard literally from nowhere only three days ago, was an odd one out here. Clear for everyone but Thatch. And Haruta. It was him who grabbed my elbow and brought me here.

"Long story short, I'm cool, cheers!" Haruta raised a finger showing it was time to toast him.

I was not even given a drink, it didn't matter, I wondered, why Haruta, who had been toasted and cheered by the entire crew, brushed the ceremonies aside – just to repeat them now in such small company.

Then Ace appeared, handing me his own mug which wasn't still quite empty.

It was indeed flattering and such, a sign of great trust, to share a mug with such a… such a…

Ah, right. My mind had left me a while ago.

On the other hand he must have been joking; the mug was so huge that it looked like a bucket to me. I wanted to put it aside, when I met the Phoenix's glance. He might start a row, it was not good to throw things around, it was his state cabin… Wait. It was him who called friends in here. Exactly to get drunk, after all.

Then why is he glaring at me?

The key to the puzzle was found, when the Fire Fist poked me in the ribs and nodded at the mug in my hands.

I see. A loyalty test.

I said nothing and took a gulp from a mug which had enough room inside for me to wear it as a helmet.

God, what were they drinking?

From the very beginning of the evening I drank nothing stronger than wine. To be honest, I drank quite enough, not because I wanted. The pirates were generous and a bit too hospitable. I got drunk, but then… in the company of five men it was safer to stay sober. Well, so I thought.

I have to stay sober. According to the test probe, they have a very exclusive menu here, and then, why am I here?

Oh, I hope, not for what I think I am here for.

"Oops. She got stuck," said someone in a lazy manner.

"Okay, okay, I see, you can drink," the owner of the mug stopped me just a step away from the heroic "Bottoms up" mark. "We have another toast here."

Ace looked at me merrily and just a bit amazedly, in the blinking light of rocking lamps his eyes seemed either dark bottomless pits – and then the night sea sparkling under sidelights. I shook my head with force, nearly springing back, trying to get rid of sentimental metaphors which came suddenly into my alcohol-veiled mind.

Fuck, looking at him this way is the last thing I need here.

Someone giggled.

"You scared the girl, you freckled snoot."

"Fuck you," Ace replied politely.

I sighed in relief. Still, now I felt the urge to get even with Haruta's nasty grin. The problem was, even if I had a chance, I would prefer to stay silent. And leave.

I got to leave.

"Well, Elmy's with us, after all," the Phoenix nodded, glancing at Haruta calmly. He nodded back, twitching slightly, then cast a quick glance at me.

And then the First Commander broke into loud laughter, throwing his head back. Thatch and Izou joined him, the one – with a hint of sympathy and the other - with a slight touch of spite. The Second Commander asked, biting his lips:

"Was it that bad?"

Haruta nipped at his mug in silence. Ace gave up on trying biting back the laughter; I started to remember whatever I could remember at all. Who was Elmy?

"Stop making fun of him," Thatch managed to utter out, "the boy's stressed."

"The boy wanted too much to get the credit on this mission, I guess," Izou smiled, stretching his lips so that the red point of lipstick in the middle of the lip seemed to be not the make-up, but the very mouth, painted carefully on flat mask, and the pirate was a ventriloquist like Rob Lucci. I was drunk. Now for sure. I giggled at the metaphor, taking another gulp from the mug. A hand covered mine, I glanced at it and forgot about it immediately, too relaxed to be alert.

Haruta blushed more and more.

"I guess I have to be glad I hadn't rushed after him," Ace said, reaching for his mug to take it back. Now the taste of the booze felt quite okay with me, so I dodged.

"I bet your were all too glad to stay here, assholes. Even Vista got moved finally, see," Haruta grunted. Thatch refilled his mug without looking like a qualified bartender.

I died to know who Elmy was. What kind of woman could she be? Well, if she was a woman, of course.

Oh, alright. Now that the mug is empty, fell free to take it back.

"Well, the Father was glad to hear the news."

"And you have chilled out," added Izou, baring his teeth politely. Wow, I should never have thought he could do something like that.

Haruta cursed, drank his mug in one shot, and, squeezing my hand in his firmly, pressed his lips to mine.

I jerked so hard that nearly fell over on Ace, and he choked on his drink, poured it all over himself and, I think, coughing wildly, he still managed to damn us.

Well, I think I was already damned, so it's nothing much.

I crawled aside hurriedly and stood up, swooning. Beside me something rustled, and I reacted immediately, squeezing my eyes shut and jumping back. Next I tripped over the edge of the carpet, then tripped over my own legs, then, falling, knocked down on myself a box with old maps, papers and a cloud of dust which seemed to be ten years old at least.

Fuck.

The pirates reacted all at the same time, so it was quite hard to tell who exactly cursed, who mumbled sympathetically and who quipped. But it was easy to guess.

"I am extremely sorry."

My voice sounded like I was summoning the dead, not apologizing. Thatch grabbed my hand and helped me up, I struggled to get free and step away. I felt sick again.

Was I here for something I thought I was here for?

"Come," said the cook calmly and pulled me out of the room into the corridor, somewhere else.

I hardly managed to move my legs, it was important, as I didn't want to be carried again. We went through the armory, the dining hall, through the ever-fussy mess-room to the main deck. And, walking among the swooning and singing pirates, to my little room with the two doors.

"Don't get mad at Haruta," said Thatch somewhere above me. I couldn't raise my head and look him in the face. "Elmy is an impressive lady indeed. She is unforgettable, just so that all you eventually want is to lose your memory."

I chuckled, not really sure what I meant by that. Thatch let go of my wrist.

"No one will bother you. So, sleep well."

"I surely will, if I suddenly go deaf," I smiled weakly, stepping back into the darkness of my small den. Thatch made a helpless gesture and stood there till the door closed.

I plunged into my mattress and laughed nervously.

My drunken mind had forced away the weirdest thing I could think of after the fear to be raped.

Marco called a bunch of men for booze. And eventually it was me who messed up the party.

And, fancy that. Elmy the unforgettable lady.


End file.
